Crimson
by The Rational Dove
Summary: During a little spring cleaning, Alfred comes across a bitter memory of War Plan Red. AmericaxCanada onrshot


Alfred despised spring cleaning. To him, it equaled shuffling through all his clothes, possessions, pictures, moldy memories and discarding them. Of course, that had never happened. He couldn't ever bring himself to clear out the shed, the closets or the basement (don't even get him _thinking _about how caked on the dust was on the items in that infernal place) no matter how painful, how _burdensome_ it was to encumber such an impossible history on his shoulders.

And some instinct within his soul commanded him never to forget those tragic events, no matter how sullying to his reputation it was. Not the pistols from the World Wars. Not the faded posters from fallout shelters. Not the bedraggled Confederate flag, hanging from a rust-speckled poll in an almost melancholic stance. Not the wrinkled drafts of documents used in the Indian Removal Act.

As much as it pained him to see such relics of his darker side cluttering his life, he wouldn't attempt to rub out its indelible stain. What happened had happened. No sense in trying to change it.

Even so, he rummaged through those legions of artifacts, wondering if somewhere interred in the remnants of the last few centuries would lay some irrelevance to let go of.

At present, America was sifting through a box of various military honors and medals, when he noticed a misplaced scroll squashed along the edge of the cardboard container. Curious, he pulled out the parchment and unfurled it on the wooden floor, medals from the box becoming paperweights to prevent the page from curling.

His cerulean irises widened at the sight of an invasion he hadn't thought about, cared about, or recalled for decades. A map of him and Canada graced the majority of the paper. On it, arrows of differing colors, lengths and thicknesses marked the paths of invasion: one to Halifax, sent to cut up communications with England, one to Quebec, preventing solider movement, one to Winnipeg, to halt railroad functions that connected Canada, and one to Vancouver, to cut his brother off from the Pacific.

Atop the arrow and symbol-littered map was the title, written suitably in a scarlet color: WAR PLAN RED: CRIMSON.

That was Canada's code: Crimson. America dragged his fingers through his hair, and heaved a sigh. Oh, he remembered _this_ old timer; the battle plan constructed on impulse, strictly out of fear of being crushed by England's imperial fist.

He'd seen that hungry look in his nightmares, those emerald eyes shining like a madman, thirsting for spilled blood. Such images had clogged his sleep during the Revolution and they clogged him in the 1920s. England had a third of the world in his palm. A. Freaking. Third. Some of which had once been him and he would rather be sent to the bowels of hell than to ever serve under that-

"Alfred? You in here?"

America jolted up in surprise. He turned his gaze to his lavender-eyed brother, his head poking into the dank closet area. "There you are." A benign smile radiated from him as he shuffled in, the floorboard creaking lightly as he took up a seat next to America. "What have you found?" Canada craned his neck to gaze at the aged paper. His eyes immediately darkened upon recognition.

He could vividly recall one of the officers in his army, informing him of the clandestine war plan. Naturally, Canada promptly developed his own counter-attack under the name of Defense Scheme No. 1.

There he had his own layout of arrows drawn to defend himself from whatever plot festered in his brother's mind, but what caused his eyebrow to crease with worry the most was America's motives.

He knew there existed no true contention between the two of them, save for the petty squabbles that brotherhood naturally led to, but even after the burning of the White House, America seemed fairly quick to forgive. So, an attack on him wasn't in any way an act of revenge. He had heard from the officer that the American had been a bit on edge with England's move to join an alliance with Japan, but could that little bond of friendship spark such a fright in the self-proclaimed hero?

Manifest Destiny. That belief that Alfred was so intoxicated with. It had to be a factor. Canada knew his neighbor had troubles comprehending what others felt- even himself- and it seemed fitting that his stage for attack on his former caretaker would be his beloved brother. He had wanted the second largest country under his wing for a while now, even before America considered independence. Neither could remember how many times Alfred had offered statehood and how many times Matthew had rejected him. It was some tireless chase to try and win over Matthew: obtain his land, stick his tongue in Arthur's face, have his century-long crush by his side, and capture his heart.

It seemed logical, but he had never asked Alfred about it, so perhaps its origin did only lie in his premature fears.

"Were you scared of Arthur when you planned this, Al?"

Canada's inquiry left America lost for words. Then a tiny chuckle escaped his lips, titling his head back in nostalgia. "I guess it was more like paranoia. I always thought about what could happen if England wanted to take me back or something and when he made that pact, I just felt that fear surface."

Canada inched toward his lover, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. So much had changed since then: Canada had his own nationhood, America had started eating hamburgers, the two of them had started dating. Perhaps if War Plan Red had became something violent, their present would be drastically different; their relationship becoming more turbulent.

Both of them were satisfied that the planned invasion never followed through. In their minds, it merely filed into their various quarrels that have since been forgotten. After all, they never did stay completely agitated with each other for long, despite Canada's three hour rants on how America should be wiped off the planet for good.

"I wonder who would've won."

The gears in America's thought center halted for a microsecond, nonplussed at the answer. "I have no idea," came the hurried response.

"Maybe we should act it out and see?"

Alfred met Canada's gazed, perplexed. "I don't think my boss would like it if I asked him to borrow the military to act out a war with my brother just for kicks."

Canada laughed hard enough for a bit of tears to fall from his eyes. "You really are an idiot sometimes, Al." With that comment, Matthew swiped Texas from his southern counterpart and fled, blowing raspberries as he disappeared down a hallway.

For the next fifteen minutes, the two North American countries chased each other around the building, tackling each other and claiming towns, states and providences for their own. Soon, they collapsed onto the couch in the living room, out of breath from the perpetual game of tag. As they snuggled together on the furniture, their bodies fitting together like their land along their border, both came to the conclusion that the battle would've been a stalemate.

It was even funny, in Matthew's eyes, how Alfred had incessantly tired to woo him and take his love for his own. Too bad Alfred hadn't realized it earlier- that he had Matthew's affections all along.

**Author's Note: This is my entry for APH-Fanfiction-Club's monthly contest. My prompt was concerning War Plan Red and Defense Scheme No. 1.**

**Footnotes:**

_**Map of Canada:**_** The actual war plan was written out, as opposed to mapped out, but I thought it would be most tasteful for writing purposes to make it a map.**

_**Canada's "code name":**_** In War Plan Red, each major colony in Britain's possession was given a code name. England-red, Canada-crimson, India-ruby, Australia-scarlet, New Zealand-garnet and Ireland-emerald.**

"_**He had heard…alliance with Japan,":**_** Reference to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance formed in 1902-ish, one of the factors that got the military working on War Plan Red.**

**I hope you all enjoy this!**

**~KekioHonda**


End file.
